


to take my breath away

by mmtion



Series: although I wish you'd stay [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Fuckbuddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 06:37:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8361277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmtion/pseuds/mmtion
Summary: Here's the thing about starting a casual relationship with a girl you're in love with: it's never casual.or;outtake of 'although I wish you'd stay' from Barry's perspective





	

**Author's Note:**

> this has been promised for so long and I'm so sorry for the wait! hopefully it's worth it?  
> thanks to Ella again and again for looking over it!

Barry has always found the campus library a comfortable one. He’s glad he has this as somewhere peaceful to study when, for instance, Ray has let his midterm project - also known as three thousand nanobots - loose in their shared house.

He rubs at his forehead, just glad that he’d managed to get out of there before he was roped into helping catch them. He has a test to study for, as much as he commiserates with Cisco’s increasingly desperate texts (CISCO: Ray wants to build a laser from our microwave to shoot at them heLP!!1!).

But as motivated as he is to study for said test - Professor Wells is known for setting ridiculously difficult papers - he’s been working for over five hours now.

He’s currently sat on the worn carpet, long legs folded haphazardly and kicked out. He's built a nest of textbooks around him, towering almost high enough to hide him, though there’s not much need to; most of the floor is empty, and no single person has come to this particular, shelf-enclosed corner the entire time he’s been here. He’s been fantasising for the past twenty minutes about building a time machine to prevent himself from ever taking this damn module.

He itches at a tickle at his temple, and then has to readjust his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. He usually prefers contacts, but his new batch hasn’t been delivered yet, and, well- look, ask any guy on this campus. Any person. If Iris West says she likes your glasses, then you damn well keep the glasses.

It’s pathetic, probably. _He’s_ pathetic, definitely. Regardless, he still loses a few moments as that night in the lab replays in his mind. Iris, looking like something his teenage self dreamt up, kneeling in front of him in fucking _Star Trek_ panties. He still flushes to think what he’d nearly blurted out, nearly ended a sentence with ‘you’ and revealed how gone he is on this girl.

He lets out a sigh as he tries to force his mind back on numbers and away from infinite, smooth skin and breathy memories.

So when he looks up a few moments later to see a familiar face, cocked hips a few feet away against the right side shelves, he genuinely thinks quantum electrodynamics has sent him loopy.

It's Iris. (Always, Iris.)

“Hey there,” she says, lips curved. “I went by your house but you weren’t there.”

He quirks a smile. "Did Cisco tell you I was here?"

"No," she says slowly, looking a little traumatised and a lot confused. "He was too busy flapping about with Ray. Something about microscopic pests? I don't know."

Barry lets out a laugh, and then quickly stifles it when he remembers where they are. Iris obviously has the same reminder, as she moves forward and crouches in front of him. She even manages to look gorgeous in the library's ugly white lighting, which is ridiculous.

"So what are you doing?" she asks in a whisper. She snatches the textbook out of his hand before he can stop her, ignoring his hushed protests as she reads aloud from the title, " _Electrodynamics and Classical Theory of Fields and Particles_. Ew."

"It's interesting," he lies.

She rolls her eyes. "Nerd," she says, and he must be imagining the way it says fond.

"I have a test," he defends. "I have to study."

He reaches out for the book but she only leans back, holding it out of reach. Impulsively, he grabs at her waist, and pulls her onto his lap. She lets out a little squawk at being manhandled, and he presses a forefinger against her lips.

"Shush," he teases, his other arm wrapped around her back. It's moments like these where he loses himself, where he forgets how casual this is supposed to be and that no, she does not see him as boyfriend material. No strings attached, Allen. And that's fine, he's okay with it. Really.

She goes a little cross-eyed trying to glare at the finger against her lips - her plush, soft, slightly chapped from the winter weather, lips - before a dangerous glint appears and she takes the finger almost down to the knuckle in her wet mouth, all in one swift movement. She maintains deliberate eye contact as she presses her tongue against it and then slowly drags her lips back up. It's his turn to remember to stay silent as he bites back a deep groan at the feeling of hot, wet suction.

“Iris,” he breathes, hoping the ‘you’re going to be the death of me’ is implied in just those syllables.

She smiles a shade too innocently.

He drops his head back against the shelves, ignoring the thud. “I really do have to study, you menace.”

“Am I distracting you?” she asks, shifting just slightly on his lap so her crotch brushes up against his. She’s only wearing a dress today, with tights and presumably panties underneath, and the sensation even through his jeans is enough for him to let out a sharp hiss.

An Iris with intent is a dangerous Iris.

“You’re always distracting me,” he replies, maybe a shade too honestly.

She leans in, holding his chin between thumb and forefinger, to gently press her lips against his in a simple kiss. “I’ll leave if you really do need to knuckle down. How long have you been working?”

“All day,” he admits.

“You know you’ve been reciting formulas in your sleep recently,” she teases quietly, which acts less as an admonishment as it reminds him that he hasn’t slept without her for the past week. (He’s certainly not going to be the one to point it out, especially since he has a sneaking suspicion she hasn’t quite noticed that particular pattern.)

“I’m just worried about this test,” he allows. “Professor Wells is known for setting difficult exams. Everyone else on the course is worried as hell.”

“Well, you’re smarter than everyone on your course anyway,” she replies, so matter-of-factly he doesn’t think she even sees it as a compliment, more of an obvious truth.

"You think so?" He wraps another arm around her, holding her loosely. They're in their own little world, surrounded by the quiet of the library and piles of books. He looks at her, for once not having to tilt his chin down to maintain eye contact.

"I know so." She carefully, almost tenderly, reaches up and slides his glasses away. “There,” she says, quiet and triumphant. “Now you can’t see the books, so you have to stop.”

“But now I can’t see you either,” he points out, though that’s not necessarily true; she’s just a little blurred around the edges.

“Drat,” she says, her smile audible in her voice. She kisses him again, and his arms tighten around her before she can pull away.

What starts off comforting and close-lipped quickly becomes something a little filthier, a little sloppier. She slips her tongue into his mouth and his hands roam up her body, even moving to cup her ass and pull her closer. She giggles against his mouth after a moment, and he's staring at her glossy lips when he asks, sounding a little stupid, "What?"

"I'm still distracting you." She doesn't sound guilty at all and he can’t help the grin.

“Yeah,” he agrees. It’s no matter anyway - she’s probably right, he has been working himself silly for the test, and there’s no way he’s going to be able to concentrate _now_. “Isn’t there any work you should be doing?”

She shakes her head. “I just handed in my American Lit coursework.” So _that’s_ why she’s feeling so energetic and mischievous.

“Well, we should definitely celebrate that,” he says, trying to tamper down how pleased he is that she thought of him first. Her satchel she uses for long days on campus is discarded by the bookshelves, so she obviously came here before even stopping off at home.

"No, no, I should go." But she's giving him that impish grin as she pulls out of his resistant arms and stands.

He recognises that look in her eyes, knows her plan is to tempt him all the way back to her bedroom. He's certainly not averse to the idea, but a different game plan enters his mind as he climbs to his feet. He grabs at her waist before she can move away too far and crowds her against the nearest shelves. She goes easily, letting out a breathy gasp as her back hits the books. She arches against him; pelvis to pelvis, he leans down and captures her in a kiss that she readily responds to.

The library hums with the sound of the air-con, and there’s the odd murmur of people and keyboards. They’re in the furthest corner, and the bracket shape of shelves they’re in faces a solid wall. The position emboldens Barry, and his fingers creep down Iris’s hips to hook up underneath her skirt.

“Barry!” she hisses, scandalised, as one palm curves round to carefully cup her sex over her tights and panties. “This is a library. There’s other people around!”

There should be no doubt that if she wanted him to back off, that this was one step too far or she just wasn’t into it, he’d stop right now. Of course he would; he respects her boundaries as much as she respects his. But he sees the blush high on her cheeks and the way she’s biting her bottom lip, and he considers her phrasing. “Is that an issue for you?”

“Someone could catch us,” she says, but it seems as if she’s warning him more than she’s protesting. He presses the heel of his palm a little into her, and her mouth falls open into a small ‘o’. He leans in to kiss her again and she’s as responsive as ever. In fact, she pushes her hips into his waiting hand.

“It’s the physics section,” he refutes. Most of the science students don’t even use textbooks, preferring digital copies and online journals, so he really isn’t lying when he continues, “No-one’s going to come in here. Well,” he amends, with a shit-eating grin he can’t help. “Apart from you.”

“What- Oh. _Oh_.” Her pupils visibly dilate, and she stutters over her next words as he pushes one digit firmly up against her folds through the fabric. “That- that’s so cheesy, Barry.” But she’s not laughing at him, that’s for sure.

She reaches up and fists a hand in his hair, kissing him fiercely. He has half a mind to tease her about English majors being turned on by being surrounded by books, but, well, he’s kind of busy right now.

He presses kisses along her jawline and down her neck, sucking at the skin as his fingers curl into the elastic waistband of her tights. It’s an awkward fit, but, encouraged by her muffled whimper, he slides his hand down and into her panties, smothering a groan of his own into her neck when he finds her hot and wet. “Iris,” he breathes, pained.

“Oh, fuck, Barry,” she gasps.

He kisses her, hiding her small noises of pleasure against his lips as he skates his fingers along her folds. He uses his thumb to gently press against her clit, and then starts rubbing in a slow, unsteady circle.

Her kisses are getting sloppier and sloppier, and as much as he was confident about not being interrupted, he doesn’t want to risk it, doesn’t ever want her to be embarrassed. So his movement becomes more insistent, more urgent, and she has to break away from his mouth to just press her face into his shoulder, hiding hiccuping sobs in his sweater. He goes for broke and, as his thumb presses hard, he slides two fingers into her at once in one fast thrust.

She makes a sound like it’s been punched out of her. His fingers start to slide in and out, her vagina so tight around them. He’s making tiny, aborted thrusts with his hips without really noticing. Iris grabs at his scalp and claws at his shoulders.

“You know,” he says, almost conversationally despite his heavy breathing and hot cheeks, into the space just below her ear. “I never paid you back for that lab visit.”

“Wha-” she exhales, and then claps a hand over her mouth to stop the sounds threatening to escape as he promptly drops to his knees, hooking his fingers in her tights and pulling them down her thighs with him. He slides his fingers back up her, adding a third, and pushes her skirt out of the way.

He moves his face forward to swipe a long lick up her folds, sliding his tongue around where his fingers are pumping steadily in and out. He chances a look up and sees her knuckles are pale with the tension she’s using to press against his mouth, and he has to quickly readjust himself in his jeans. Kneeling in front of her, he thinks, yeah, this is how he’ll be undone.

But the angle’s not quite right, and so, without giving her much fair warning, he uses his free hand to grab at the back of Iris’s thigh and then left her leg up to rest on his shoulders.

The movement has the joint effect of giving him better access, allowing him to curl his tongue into her heat between his fingers, as well as stretching her a little wider. She lets out a heavy exhale, and he feels her fingers, tentatively at first, comb through his hair. But she’s not tugging yet, not desperate and writhing enough for his liking, so he flattens his tongue against her clit and curls one of his fingers inside her, searching for her magic spot that he’s become increasingly familiar with.

She lets out a gasp and bends over him; now she’s twisting her fingers in his hair, just shy of pulling at the strands painfully. She’s close, he knows the tell-tale signs intimately, and he quickens the pace of his fingers, uses his tongue with broad, firm strokes that has her whimper.

He knows the exact second she’s going to come, and he surges up, letting her leg fall from his shoulder but keeping it high with his forearm underneath the crook of her knee, to capture her loud moan in his mouth.

They stay there for a moment longer, frozen in position and panting into each other’s mouths, not quite kissing. The slack, dazed expression on Iris is one of Barry’s favourites, and he smiles at her, eyes crinkling in the way he’s always hated. He leans quickly in to kiss her nose; she looks like she’s run a marathon, which he tries not to preen over.

“Oh, fuck you,” she whispers when she catches sight of his satisfied grin, but there’s no heat to it.

He slowly extracts his fingers from her, kissing her again quickly when she whimpers at the movement, and pulls her tights and panties back into position on her. He presses a gentle kiss to her hip; in these quiet moments after orgasms, the sex stink in the air and blood still pounding, he can allow himself to be more tender.

She’s still breathing heavily, and she’s quite clearly leaning against the shelves for support. He discreetly grabs a tissue from his bag to wipe his fingers on, and then pulls his backpack onto his shoulders. He’s still hard as a rock, and he starts mentally going through class-provided crime scene photos to try and will it away.

Iris seems to finally find her legs, and she curls her hands in his sweater, meeting him halfway for a kiss. “Back to yours?” she breathes against his mouth.

“Cisco,” he reminds.

She frowns. “No, I’m _Iris_ , remember? The one who was just chanting your name.”

He rolls his eyes. “Ha-ha. No, I mean, Cisco and Ray will still be trying to catch the nanobots. What about yours?”

“Sure,” she says agreeably. She grabs for her own satchel and slings it over her shoulder; apart from a slight sheen of perspiration on her skin and a hint of a blush, she looks as put together as she did when she first walked in.

Thinking of her entrance reminds him: “So, wait, if Cisco didn’t tell you where I was, how did you know where to find me?”

“I remember you saying you always came to the library to study,” she says, offhandedly. Except he remembers when exactly he told her that, and it must have been last month at the latest. He’s honest enough to admit the thought of her noticing that trait erupts a warm feeling in his gut. “And Caitlin mentioned yesterday that you were stressing about a test.”

He doesn’t comment on the friendship that has grown between Caitlin and Iris (also known as two of his favourite women) and instead teases, “Investigative reporter indeed, huh?”

She elbows him in response, and then takes his hand as they walk out of the enclosed bookshelf.

It manages to be both a blessing and a curse that Iris is so tactile. He would never give up her easy touches, the ruffle of her fingers through his hair and the link of her arm through his. But then he sees her hug Cisco and Caitlin when she greets them, sees her tap one of her bakery colleagues on the nose in teasing. She doesn’t think anything of it, he knows that; she doesn’t notice that her assistant editor, Mason or something, obviously has a crush on her, and when they went to get coffee last week, she didn’t even see the phone number the poor barista had scrawled on the receipt. It’s as endearing as it is infuriating, and it doesn’t half make things confusing.

Like now, for instance, with her fingers entwined with his. She doesn’t care that people are eyeing them, that they’re obviously making assumptions based on the hand contact. But, like he says, if she’s not going to mention it, he’s certainly not.

This simple contact is making him confident. He thinks, madly, this is it. He’s going to wait until they’re somewhere alone, and where they can speak at a normal pitch, and he’s going to tell her. He’ll admit he’s been going along with the completely false assumption about Patty (and doesn’t it still perplex him that she could so easily believe it?) and he’ll confess that she’s been the only girl on his mind since he first saw her, since she stopped to help him up when Tony Woodward tripped him in the school corridors. Since she smiled at him.

He wonders if she’s noticed how fast his pulse is racing, if she can sense the rapid beat of his heart.

They step into the lift, but just before the doors close, someone darts an arm in the gap, and then hops inside. He's obviously another student; Barry would guess someone doing their post-grad. He has dark hair, almost as dark as his eyes, and tan-brown skin.

Barry doesn't think much of him, until he sees the stranger's eyes widen in recognition and feels Iris stiffen beside him.

"Iris?" The guy asks.

"Oh, Scott?” Iris responds, with a joviality to her tone that seems forced. “Hey, how are you?”

“Good, I’m- I’m, yeah I’m good.” Neither he nor Iris make any gesture to offer a handshake or hug, so Barry definitely isn’t imagining how the air is thick with weird tension. He also isn’t imagining the way Scott’s eyes flicker to where Iris and Barry are still holding hands. “You’re still at the paper, right?”

“Yeah,” Iris says, nodding just a little too quickly. Her gaze flickers to her side, to Barry, and she quickly says, “Oh! This is Barry. Barry, Scott. Scott, Barry.” It’s possibly one of the few times Barry’s ever seen Iris flustered and awkward, and certainly the most times she’s said his name in one period when fully clothed.

“Hey,” Barry puts on his most polite smile, doesn’t offer his hand for Scott to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Scott says, though his tone suggests something else entirely. “You, uh-” he gestures to Barry’s face. Barry instinctively reaches up and wipes at the part referenced, just by the corner of his mouth; his thumb comes away with a smear of lipstick the exact shade Iris is wearing.

But already, Scott’s looking back at Iris. She doesn’t seem to notice, too busy looking anywhere else.

The doors open again, and a librarian walks in, holding a tower of books. The entrance doesn’t do anything to dissuade the tension in the elevator, only serving to extend the elevator’s descent.

Barry feels Iris’s fingers flex where they’re interlocked with his; he moves as if to pull away, thinking that’s what she wants, but then her hand tightens. He can guess what this Scott is to her by just this brief interaction; if she wants to use him to prove something to Scott, than he doesn’t mind.

The doors ping open, and the librarian walks out, tottering slightly under the weight of the books. Barry sees what’s about to happen the split-second before it does; her ballet pumps are loose on her feet, and as she steps forward, she trips slightly, and the heavy books fly out of her grasp as she falls to her knees.

Barry’s slipping out of the elevator before he really thinks about it, and he crouches to help her pick up the books. He only realises what his instinctive manners have cost him when the ping of the elevator catches up to him. He must’ve slipped out just before the doors slid shut, leaving Iris and Scott (he can’t help the nasty tone his mind uses for the name, okay, he can’t) there alone.

The librarian smiles gratefully as he helps collect the books, bending some covers back to normal and stacking them back up in her arms. “Thanks,” she says, before scuttling off into the maze of shelves.

“No problem,” he says to her quickly retreating back. He turns back and sees the elevator is on its way back to the top floor. His shoulders visibly deflate - luckily, he only needs to go down one flight of stairs to reach reception and the exit, but he can’t shut off the nasty, jealous part of his brain that wonders what Scott might have said to Iris in these moments alone.

But then he reaches reception and sees Iris, standing alone and waiting for him, and his spirits lift a little. Scott is nowhere to be seen.

"So who was that?" he asks, as they fall into step together (obviously he has to take smaller strides for that to happen). He has a sneaking suspicion as to the answer considering how awkward the interaction had been.

He's proven right when she lets out an exhale of a laugh, admitting, "Oh, you know. He and I..."

"Slept together?" His voice is too flat, his words too blunt, but either she doesn't notice or she's graceful enough not to comment. They leave through the main exit and come out onto campus.

"Yeah." She gestures dismissively, laughing as she explains, "We met at this party, and I was just trying to blow off some steam? I don't know, it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Oh?" He says lightly, trying to join in on the joke like his stomach isn't churning. She hasn’t mentioned him, and he thought they’d agreed- it must have been before they promised to tell each other if they slept with anyone else. But his tongue ties at the thought of asking for more specifics, more precise timings.

"It was fine," she says, and he shouldn't be disappointed that she doesn't use something more damning, he shouldn’t. "But it was so awkward in the morning, you know?"

They both remember at the same time that no, he doesn't know, because the first time they had slept together - and the second - she had run out whilst he was sleeping.

She powers on, though, and continues, "I mean, he said 'thank you.' Like I was giving him a service or something." She mockingly shudders and he obligingly chuckles, hoping that's the quickest way to end this conversation.

It's a sour reminder that he's not different or permanent. That she can hold his hand and laugh at his jokes and it's still just casual.

He remembers, with a jolt of painful clarity, _‘It’s cool if you want to see other people, obviously.’_

He’s lost in his own thoughts on the walk home, only half-heartedly replying to Iris’s attempts at conversation. He knows they agreed to tell each other if they were seeing other people, but what’s he going to do when that inevitably happens the next time? She’s going to be able to read the heartbreak all over his face. He’s always been a terrible actor. Maybe he should take lessons, or-

“Barry!” He jolts to a stop as Iris actually moves to face him and plant her feet in front of him. He has a split-second of panic when he thinks she’s read his mind already, that she’s going to tell him to go home and never see her again, but she continues, “Are you still worrying about the test?”

She genuinely looks worried, and he breathes easy at the lie handed to him on a silver platter. “Yeah,” he says, although it’s been abruptly downgraded on his mental list of concerns. “Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She worries at her bottom lip in thought, which he has to make sure he doesn’t stare at. “Do you want to just study? I’ll walk you back to the library. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have disturbed you-”

“Hey, no, it’s fine,” he rushes, reaching to cup her face and stop her fretting. “You were right - I needed a break.”

He sees the instance the guilt leaves her, as her lips tick up in a smirk and she says, “Well, of course. I’m always right.”

He rolls his eyes skyward and shoves at her, just enough to make her spin and laugh and start walking in the right direction again.

They reach her sorority house in the next ten minutes, a place he’d never thought he’d really go in. Barry Allen, king of the nerds, in one of the most popular sorority houses on campus? Yeah, right.

But he knows her fellow sisters well by this point. Felicity was the first he really knew, on account of seeing her wearing a t-shirt with a binary joke on it. He knew Linda from a party last year, and while he had been prepared to be awkward with her considering their history, she had just laughed it off and teased him. Laurel’s still a little off with him, but, oddly enough, she and Cisco got on like a house on fire when Iris had hosted a small Halloween party. He’s comfortable enough to casually wave a greeting to Nyssa and Kendra in the kitchen as Iris leads him to her room on the first floor.

The first time he’d been in Iris’s sorority room, he’d been surprised at the simple decor and adult sheets. For some reason, he’d been picturing what he remembers of her childhood bedroom, the few times he’d been in there visiting Wally, with bright purple walls and a huge collection of stuffed animals. But here, the largest expression of her personality is the various newspaper clippings and photos pinned to the blank walls.

His eyes automatically search for his personal favourite of the photos, the one Cisco had taken when they were all at the bowling alley. But as his gaze tracks across the glossy pictures, it catches on one in particular: it’s just him and Iris.

He remembers the day she had taken it clearly. They’re both smiling at the camera, temples close as they share a scarf with the Central City High colors. Iris had taken the photo to prove to Wally that they were there in the crowd supporting him at his athletics competition. He’d thought nothing of it at the time, thought Iris had just sent it through an app and not saved it. Maybe-

No. The wall is a display of friendships and memories and her journalistic passion. The photo means nothing more than that, and he’s not going to read anything into it, nor the fact it’s pinned near her bed.

He pulls his gaze away just as Iris plops onto the bed, setting up something on her laptop. He sits on the other side, toeing off his shoes before curling his legs up. He leans back on one arm as he watches her typing in a movie hosting website.

“What’s the plan?” He asks, watching her rather than the more informative computer screen.

“Something awesome enough to entertain us,” she explains, typing furiously with the skill of a seasoned writer. “But just about dumb enough for your brain to unwind.”

She presses the enter key with a flourish, and then pushes him back against the bed headboard and cushions. It probably says something that he’s so easily malleable for her, that despite his half-foot height difference she can just move him where she wants him. She arranges the cushions against his back, and he’s about to protest and make sure she has some before he realises her plan to use _him_ as her cushion. She curls into him, fitting her head against his collarbone and letting out a small, content sigh.

So he can't blamed for the fact it takes him a few moments to recognise the film playing, too wrapped up in the scene he’s found himself in. He bites back a small laugh. “ _Assault on Precinct 13_?” he reads from the film’s title page.

“You remember?”

He grins at the memories the film elicits. “Your dad would always hide the VHS on the top bookshelf when we were kids.”

She nods, and he can feel her smile against his skin. His arm wraps around her and pulls her just that tiny bit closer. “It was Dad’s favourite movie. We were intrigued, it was to be expected, really.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, with a grin. “But then we managed to watch it and we were traumatised for a week.”

“Dad was probably right to hide it from us,” she allows.

He remembers watching it with her, when Wally was in his room playing video games and Joe was working. He remembers spending more time concentrating on how close she was on the couch than the film, remembers watching the hand that snapped out to grab his arm at the death of the little girl, and having to make something up when she asked him his opinion afterwards. It's always a surprise when she does remember snippets of their shared history; despite being in the same year group, they'd grown far apart when Barry moved to a different middle school, so he doesn't blame her. And yes, he does have to admit he's changed in the years since he last saw her, in height and muscle mass alone. 

It’s not surprising that Iris falls asleep during the movie - she has a history of it, as he’s learned through their various attempts at getting through her Netflix queue. He’s close to sleep himself, with the only light coming from her laptop screen, and with the lulling sound of her steady breathing. Her side, pressed against his torso, rises and falls in a careful tempo.

He’s suddenly startled, and brought back from the cusp of sleep, by his phone vibrating aggressively on the bedside table, and lighting up with the notification of a text message. He carefully reaches for it, thanking his long limbs for being able to stretch without disturbing Iris.

He thumbs in his digit password quickly (Iris has been trying to convince him for the past few weeks to get the fingerprint security option, but he spends enough time in the forensic lab to be sceptical) and opens the message.

CISCO: nanobots have all been collected. Thnx for ur help -- NOT.

Barry winces, and quickly taps back a reply.

YOU: Sorry man, but glad to hear it!

CISCO: I’ll come meet u at the library, we can celebrate at Verdant

Cisco follows up that message with a string of party and alcohol-themed emojis, and Barry has to send his reply fast, before Cisco gets even more carried away.

YOU: Um, not actually at the library right now. Maybe we could go tomorrow?

His phone immediately switches to display ‘INCOMING CALL: CISCO’ and Barry figures he can’t justifiably ignore it.

"Dude," Cisco says flatly. "Are you with Iris right now?"

"Maybe," Barry allows, already knowing how Cisco's going to react to that. It's not that Cisco disapproves, exactly - but he's convinced that Barry just needs to tell Iris his actual feelings, which, no. Hasn't Barry learned enough to never admit it? From waking up alone _twice_ , to Caitlin reporting that Iris didn't even see their first night as a big deal, all the way to today, confronting another of Iris' lovers. No, thanks, Barry isn’t that desperate to crash and burn.

Sure enough, Cisco lets out an exhale in which Barry can actually hear the eyes rolling. "Of course you are. Glad to know your studying was important enough to ditch helping your friends, but not enough to say no to Iris."

"Come on," Barry says, because okay, it wasn't the best example of comradery, but it's not like Cisco has never ditched friend duties in pursuit of beautiful men and women.

"Nah, it's fine, I'm just cranky from catching air all day." Cisco lets out a deep gust of breath. "And, well- okay, I'm worried about you."

Barry frowns, making sure his voice keeps quiet to prevent Iris from waking. "Why?"

"What do you mean, why? You're spending eighty per cent of your time with Iris! It's not healthy."

"Is this because I'm spending less time with you?" asks Barry. Maybe he has been more absent than he thought. "I mean it, we could go for drinks tomorrow. I'll get the first round of tequila shots, I promise."

"You can’t handle your tequila, white boy," Cisco dismisses, forcing a quirk of a smile from Barry. "But- I wouldn't be bothered if she was actually your girlfriend, you know?"

Barry groans. "Not this again." He stills as Iris snuffles into his chest; but she's a heavy sleeper, so he's not that worried. He puts his phone volume a little lower just in case though.

"Yes, this again!" Cisco huffs.

"It's casual," Barry promises, despite knowing that anytime anyone else refers to his relationship with Iris as such, something deep in his chest pangs. "I know you think I can't handle it, but-"

"I know you can't handle it." Cisco replies firmly. "And you must know that as well, else you wouldn't be so scared to tell her how you actually feel."

"I- don't..." Barry says, lame even to his own ears. He steels himself. "Okay, fine. But why should I deliberately try and mess with this? She's having fun, I'm having fun, it's fine."

"I never said you'd mess it up. How do you know she doesn't return the feelings?" Cisco's tone is a little odd, almost on edge, as if he's trying to hint to Barry something that should be obvious. Like when they played 'Pictionary' and he couldn't understand why Barry didn't see his drawing as, "Obviously  _The Wizard of Oz!_ Look at the tornado, Bartholomew!"

“I just know,” Barry says, a final tone to his voice clear enough that Cisco tries a different tactic.

"Didn't you say Patty texted you the other day? If it’s so casual with you and Iris, why don’t you go out with her?”

There’s an obvious answer that Barry doesn’t want to voice: she’s not Iris.

“Look,” Cisco placates. “Buddy. If it’s so casual, if everything’s fine, why don’t you just go for coffee with Patty? Maybe the cover story you’re using to cover things with Iris might actually be the real deal.”

Barry twists his lips at the sore reminder at his lie. Surely that's proof enough, that Iris is so comfortable with screwing around with a guy supposedly in love with someone else.  “Maybe.”

Cisco lets out a sigh, clearly hearing the reluctance in Barry’s voice. “Okay, well. You do you, beanstalk. Drinks tomorrow, yeah?”

“Definitely,” Barry says, and pulls the phone from his ear as the hang-up tone sounds.

He lets his arm drop to his side; the movie has ended and the laptop has gone to sleep. Iris and he are bathed in the faint light from the moonlit window. He's watching the rise and fall of her breathing when he makes the decision, Cisco's words echoing in his head.

The phone is still alight and open, and he quickly flicks to the text message that’s been sitting in his inbox for two days.

PATTY S: you wanna get coffee sometime? was talking to Cisco and he mentioned you also have prof stein for labs - I need to commiserate with someone haha! x

YOU: Yes, that sounds good. What about day after tomorrow? x

He adds the ‘x’ on impulse and sends the reply before he can back out. (He’s never sent kisses on texts to Iris.)

As if she can sense his turbulent thoughts, Iris lets out a little huff. He shifts down a little, carefully positioning them both into a more horizontal position. The movement stirs Iris. “Wha-?” she mumbles, half-awake.

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, folding her back into him. She falls back into unconsciousness in between one breath and the next, for which he’s thankful for, too scared she'd be able to easily read him. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to get to sleep now, too wired from a decision he’s certainly not sure about. His fingers tap an erratic pattern on her back, just light enough to not disturb her.

He breathes in, breathes out, wishing against all odds that he’d maybe protected his heart a little better, that he’d never let himself experience something that’s so close yet so far to what he really wants. This is going to hurt no matter how it ends, so shouldn’t he at least try to shield himself a little from the inevitable?

He thinks about sending Patty a message to cancel - it would be weird, but fuck it. The thought of going on a date with her sounds awful, really, and guilt doesn’t need his permission to sink in his stomach. But then Scott’s face pops into his mind.

Breathe this in, breathe it out. He’ll take what he can get of this, of moonlit embraces and warm laughter, while he still can. Because god, it seems like he's been hanging by the skin of his teeth onto this lie and this relationship, but at least he's had it. He knows Iris now: knows her in ecstasy and stress; knows how she takes her coffee and what Youtube clips she finds funny; knows her in a way he knows very few people.

It remains to be seen, however, when all this ends, whether he'll be grateful for experiencing it or whether he'll wish he never knew any of it at all.

Breathe in.

 


End file.
